It was just another day, commuting back home from the office, and just like that it hit me that in little over 14 months I'll be turning 30.
30.
I've spent most of my life yearning for my thirties, daydreaming about how put together my life would be and how much I'd have achieved by then. I truly believed that by the age of 30 I'd have moved out of my dad's, I'd be in a serious relationship and have a proper grown-up job. I'd drive my own car and plan my own life, taking pleasure in even the smallest and dullest of details, like doing my own laundry and managing not to turn all my clothes marshmallow pink. I'd have time for my hobbies, for the musicals and the books and the movies and everything else under the sun that caught my eye. And I'd have good friends around me. And I'd travel somewhere new a couple of times a year.
And to be honest, it's not like I'm that far behind (reading the words as they pour out of my fingers you'd think I'm actually right on schedule!), but I want more from my twenties. And so it's time to start planning my grand exit. To make 29 the best year yet. And then let the next decade try and top it up!
Yeah, that sounds like a plan...
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